followed him. It
struck Antonia that they were talking of a change, or of something
important. But there was no time for observation. Isabel, radiant in
crimson satin, with her white mantilla over her head, darted forward to
meet Luis, and turned his song to the Virgin into a little adulation
for herself. Dare and the doctor took Antonia's hands, and there was
something in the silent clasp of each which made her heart tremble.

But she was not one of those foolish women who enquire after misfortune.
She could wait and let the evil news find her, and by so doing she won
many a bright hour from the advancing shadows. The Senora was in unusual
spirits. She had obtained a new confessor. "A man of the most seraphic
mind, and, moreover, so fortunate as to be connected with the house of
Flores." He had been gentle to her in the matter of penances, and not
set her religious obligations above her capacities. Consequently,
the Senora had laid aside her penitential garments. She was in full
Castilian costume, and looked very handsome. But Antonia, who had
been in New York during those years when she would otherwise have been
learning how to wear a mantilla and use a fan, did not attempt such
difficulties of the toilet. She knew that she would look unnatural in
them, and she adhered to the American fashions of her day. But in
a plain frock of dark satin trimmed with minever bands, she looked
exceedingly noble and lovely.

The meal was a very merry one, and after it Lopez Navarro joined the
party and they had music and dancing, and finally gathered around the
fire to hear the singing of Luis. He knew a great many of the serenades,
and as he sang of the Virgin and the Babe, a sweeter peace, a more
solemn joy, came to each heart. It was like bringing something of the
bliss of heaven into the bliss of earth. The Senora's eyes were full of
tears; she slipped her hand into her husband's and looked at him with a
face which asked, "Do you not also feel the eternity of a true love?"

"How sweet and wild are these serenades, Luis!" said Antonia. "I wonder
who wrote them?"

"But, then, they were never written, my sister. Out of the hearts of
lonely shepherds they came; or of women spinning in their quiet houses;
yes, even of soldiers in the strong places keeping their watch."

"That is the truth, Luis," answered Isabel. "And every Christmas, when
I was in the convent the Sisters made a serenade to the Virgin, or a
seguidilla to our bless